


I Can't Lose You

by LondonGypsy



Category: Agent Pendergast Series - Douglas Preston & Lincoln Child
Genre: (well for me that is - according to the books it might be a ), Backstory, Bittersweet, Developing Relationship, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Kissing, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Minor Character Death, Reminiscing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-04-09 02:11:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4329801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LondonGypsy/pseuds/LondonGypsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loss. <br/>Memories. <br/>Realizations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Can't Lose You

**Author's Note:**

> First off: no, I didn't kill either of the boys - I just couldn't do it despite wanting to when I started this.   
> Nevertheless there's the tag but it's neither of them!   
> And yes, there's a happy ending.   
> Just felt the need to say that as I myself rarely read Character Death fics and I don't want to put you off.   
> Hope you still enjoy this. 
> 
> As always all the love for my darlin beta [SuperWhoLockGypsy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperWhoLockGypsy/profile) ! Even though it's not her fandom!! Thank you Honey.   
> All remaining mistakes are mine.   
> (borrowing from the books: no copyright infringement intended!)

Captain Vincent D'Agosta watched stoically as the casket was lowered into the gaping hole in the ground. A cold wind was blowing over the graveyard, rattling the leafless trees. Angry-looking clouds were sailing over the dark grey sky, and it started to rain.

A dark umbrella opened over his head, and he looked up.

Proctor stood behind him like a silent shadow, his expression carefully neutral. Words filled the air but D'Agosta didn't hear them; they were only murmurs, echoing around him. Eventually it was over and the congregation started to dissolve.

D'Agosta waited until everyone else had gone.

Only then he stepped forward, holding a single red rose. Nothing betrayed his calm appearance as he dropped the flower on top of the many others littering the oaken coffin.

The downpour had plastered his thinning hair to his head, rivulets of water running down his face and soaking up the fabric of his coat.

He ignored it.

Inclining his head he closed his eyes for a moment before he straightened his back and turned away from the grave.

"Where to, sir?" Proctor asked softly, holding the umbrella over D'Agosta again.

The captain was silent for a while as they walked towards the car.

"Home," he eventually said, just before sliding into the backseat of the Rolls.

Proctor nodded, closed the umbrella and slipped into the driver's seat. Slowly he steered the big car along the small paths of the graveyard and out onto New York's crowded streets.

*

D'Agosta entered the library, closing the heavy door behind him. He leaned against it, his breath deliberately slow. The room smelled of old paper, bees wax and cold ashes.

He let his gaze roam over the large bookshelves, took in the vastness of the room - and its utter emptiness.

Letting out a quiet sigh he shuffled over to a small table, pouring a rather large drink from the selection of bottles on it. Taking a sip, his shoulders slumped as he walked towards the fireplace and fell into one of the wing chairs in front of it.

Silence enveloped him like a blanket, and for a long while he kept staring into the nothingness.

As he raised the glass again, his hand was shaking. Not much, only a faint tremble, sending tiny shivers through the amber liquid. He exhaled, trying to stop it. He couldn't, his hand kept quivering and with a silent curse he set the glass down.

Standing, he started to pace the room from one end to the other, fingernails digging deep into his palm.

An almost inaudible noise had him stop in his tracks.

Constance Greene stood in the door, her violet eyes sad in the dimness of the room.

She didn't say anything, just glided over to where he was standing.

"My deepest condolences," she whispered formally.

He took in her small form, dressed in a plain black dress, falling almost to the floor. Her dark hair was swept behind her ears, somewhat exposing the sorrowful expression on her face.

Lifting one hand, she hesitated a second before laying it on D'Agosta's arm.

Something inside him cracked and he lowered his head, not wanting her to see his face as he blinked rapidly.

"Do you want to be alone?" she asked quietly.

He nodded slowly.

Her hand slipped from his arm and wordlessly she left, closing the door behind her.

D'Agosta tried to calm the overwhelming emotions flooding his mind but quickly realized that he wouldn't be able to push them back. Memories flooded his mind, colorful and so real, he couldn't hold back a pained sob. There were no tears, only a choked-off noise, echoing around the room.

On unsteady legs he crossed the library and opened the concealed door in the far corner, leading into a small room. Soft light filtered through the window, illuminating the large bed in the middle, a desk and two nightstands.

D'Agosta slipped out of his shoes and lay on the bed, sinking into the soft firmness of the mattress. Hazily he stared at the ceiling, not seeing anything. His mind was quickly spiraling off, random memories filling his mind

Lying still he let the past wash over him, wave after wave pulling him back in time.

A brief smile flickered over his lips as hazy images took form behind his eyes.

Sinking deeper into the cool sheets he allowed his lids to flutter closed, a sudden smell of crisp winter air filling his nose.

***

_They were walking along the path behind the hospital, Pendergast adjusting his long strides to D'Agosta's hesitant shuffle. The leaden sky was releasing a steady fall of snow, covering everything in a fluffy whiteness, muffling the sounds of their steps._

_It was the third time D'Agosta was out of his private room. It had taken quite a bit of persuasion on his part to convince his doctors that he was able to walk on his own._

_"Commissioner Hayward sends her regards," Pendergast said into the silence, startling D'Agosta out of his concentration. He stumbled and stopped, leaning heavily on the crutches the doctor insisted on, catching his breath._

_"She hopes your recovery goes well," Pendergast added, pulling the thick scarf around his neck tighter._

_"Does she?" D'Agosta said, steadying himself, turning towards Pendergast, who inclined his head in affirmation._

_D'Agosta suppressed a chuckle as the overly-big hat slipped over his eyes. The man was wrapped into no less than two scarves, a big woolly hat, a padded coat over his customary suit, and fur-lined gloves._

_"You look ridiculous, you know that?" D’Agosta said, amusement clearly audible in his voice._

_"As you know I despise the cold," the agent replied, "it doesn't agree with my heritage.”_

_The simple statement stopped the sarcastic comment D’Agosta had on his lips. He had already wondered about it but rehabilitation had prevented him from thinking too much of it._

_Pendergast's intense blue eyes met his, surely evaluating the unspoken questions on D’Agosta’s face._

_"I’m responsible for you being in here," he said in a quiet voice, “I’m merely making sure you’re recovering properly.”_

_D'Agosta watched him closely, ignoring the warm sensation in his chest._

_"You’re not and you know that," he replied louder than he had intended to._

_Pendergast shook his head, a solemn expression on his face._

_“Vincent, please. If I hadn't ‘roped you into this case’, as the Commissioner had put so eloquently, none of this would've happened."_

_He waved a gloved hand around, indicating the hospital and D’Agosta’s injury. The agent's voice was unusually subdued, and he avoided looking at him._

_D'Agosta sensed that the man was blaming himself - more than usual - for his injury._

_"True," he said, "but as you also know, I was assigned to the case anyways. I probably would’ve been shot, no matter what. Nobody could’ve expected the perp to snap like that. Not even you.”_

_It was true that he had followed a clue brought to him by the agent but sooner or later he would've gotten there himself. However, he had not considered the possibility of getting shot. The perpetrator had been a ruthless blackmailer, not a killer. But apparently desperate times required desperate measures. He huffed a sarcastic laugh. Never underestimate backing a suspect up against a wall. He had learned that the hard way._

_Thankfully Pendergast had found him in the nick of time, had stopped the bleeding long enough for the ambulance to race him off to hospital._

_It had been a close call - he had barely made it. His heart, never the strongest, had stopped several times during the ten hour surgery. And he was still under close observation. His recovery was going very slowly but he soldiered on, one step at a time. These little outings helped him though, and having Pendergast still around only added to his will to get better._

_"Stop beating yourself up," he growled, seeing the hard expression on Pendergast's face, "you saved my life. Without you I-"_

_"Without me you wouldn't even have to suffer like this," Pendergast hissed, lips pressed tightly together, two bright spots coloring his high cheekbones._

_D'Agosta stared at him in shock: an outburst like this was highly unusual. Pendergast almost never lost his temper._

_He didn't know what to say, and judging by the abrupt turn the agent made, he was surprised by it himself. Speechlessly D'Agosta watched him walk away, wondering whether or not to follow, but he quickly disregarded it. He wouldn't be able to keep up with the man’s long strides._

_Instead he inhaled the cold air deeply, trying to calm his racing pulse. Slowly he made his way back towards the hospital, carefully setting the crutches on the slippery path._

_He was almost at the fountain in front of the stairs as he stepped on black ice. He flailed, one crutch slipping out of his grip. A helpless cry escaped his lips as he rotated his arms to keep his balance._

_Two strong hands closed around his shoulders, steadying him._

_D'Agosta cursed and shifted his weight until he was standing more securely again. He took a deep breath, white puffs clouding his face._

_"Thanks," he said, glancing over his shoulder._

_Pendergast's face was paler than usual, his blue eyes wide, and D'Agosta thought he saw something like anxiety flit through them. It was gone instantly, and he wondered if he had really seen it._

_Turning slowly around, Pendergast's hands fell from his shoulders. They slipped over the rough fabric of D'Agosta's coat and settled somewhere around his wrists. He could feel the vice-like grip becoming softer, and he could feel every single one of the long gloved fingers, even through several layers of clothing._

_"You need to be more careful, Vincent," Pendergast said quietly, his southern accent so very out of place in the harsh freezing landscape around them._

_D'Agosta was pretty sure the man didn’t mean his almost fall to the ground; there was some deeper meaning to his words which left D’Agosta a bit dazed._

_Pendergast cared about him, he knew that but this was new: hanging around for weeks without a case, visiting him at the oddest hours, enduring the cold he so fervently despised. He even had arranged the transfer to a private hospital closer to home._

_He searched the man's face, noticing the deep lines around his mouth, the worry in his eyes._

_"Will do," he finally muttered, not knowing what else to say. Their close proximity did something to his stomach, made it roll slowly, in a way it hadn't done in a long time._

_Snow was still falling, fat flakes tumbling all around them, settling soundlessly on their heads and shoulders, covering them in white._

_But neither of them seemed to mind. Something hung between them, something immense and unspoken and very delicate, ready to burst any second._

_"I will not always be there," Pendergast murmured into the heavy silence, "I cannot always protect you."_

_His voice was small, tinged with something D'Agosta hadn't heard before._

_"I could never forgive myself if...," the agent swallowed, blinked, then continued, "if you'd lose your life due to my actions."_

_The last was pressed out between tight lips, barely making its way to D'Agosta's ears._

_And it was then that he - finally - saw Pendergast's struggle, felt the overwhelming guilt the man was carrying around since the shooting._

_They had been in some tough situations before, very close calls they had barely escaped. But despite everything they had always made it, often battered and bruised but alive._

_Something was different this time. Something had rattled the agent deeply._

_And he couldn't figure out what it was._

_"Hey," D'Agosta said, trying to sound confident, "it was nothing. I'm a tough cookie, you know that. Scratches, nothing else."_

_He waved a dismissive hand around, accidentally dislodging Pendergast's grip on him. His arm fell to his side with a soft thud._

_Frowning Pendergast kept looking at him, and again D'Agosta saw something in the depth of those icy blue eyes. Something closely resembling to ... fear?_

_And suddenly he understood._

_"Pendergast," he asked, clearing his throat, "don't tell me you were actually worried I wouldn't make it?"_

_The agent winced; only for a the blink of an eye but D'Agosta saw it and he gasped surprised._

_He had never once contemplated the possibility of not surviving. Granted, he hadn’t been conscious for a week, only vaguely knew the details of his rescue and everything that came after._

_The doctors had told him what had happened, but it had been medical gibberish to him and he hadn’t paid it much attention. He WAS alive, that was all that mattered to him._ _He had barely had the time to consider what it had meant to his friends, his family; to Pendergast, who he considered his best friend._

_He groaned at his own blindness, and acting out of sheer impulse he reached out and pulled Pendergast into an awkward hug, wanting to banish the haunted expression on his face._

_At first the man was rigid, and D'Agosta was sure he was holding his breath. But then he relaxed, only a little, and D'Agosta felt a hand on his lower back._

_"I'm not that easy to kill," he muttered against the side of Pendergast's face, his nose pressed into the black fabric of his silly hat, "we've been through some bad shit together. It takes more than some bullets to get rid of me. You of all people should know that. Have a little faith."_

_He felt the lithe body shiver and instinctively tightened his embrace. For a moment he thought the pressure of the man's hand on his back increased but then Pendergast gently stepped back, putting some space between them._

_"It's not lack of faith, Vincent," Pendergast said, "I have quite some faith in your abilities. But you can’t rely on faith in our line of work. You can't control your surroundings. It's an unfortunate side effect of our occupation. I’ve always prided myself with being able to predict an outcome quite accurately. This time I have utterly failed. Which had almost cost you your life."_

_D'Agosta pulled himself together._

_"Stop blaming yourself. It was an unfortunate string of events, Nothing to be done about it. And I'm here now, aren’t I? And I’m getting better."_

_Pendergast regarded him closely for a long moment, and then nodded almost imperceptibly._

_"You're right, of course. My apologies."_

_D'Agosta narrowed his eyes trying to read him but the agent's face had closed up again. He shrugged; he’ll let it go - for now._

_He straightened his back and pointed at the fallen crutch._

_"If you’d be so kind?" he asked, adjusting the remaining one._

_Pendergast bent down, retrieved it but instead of giving it to D'Agosta, he offered him his arm with a regretful smile._

_D’Agosta didn’t hesitate and slipped his hand through it. They walked back, climbing the stairs and vanished inside, a quiet understanding hovering in the air between them._

_Their friendship had just taken a step further, and D'Agosta didn't mind. Not one bit._

*

_Another hospital room, another hospital bed, although this one was a lot more comfortable. The setting sun cast its low beams over the thick covers, tiny dust particles dancing in its path._

_D'Agosta sat propped against the pillow, watching Pendergast sleep in an easy chair next to the bed. His head had fallen against the high back, his hands rested on his stomach, and to D'Agosta's amusement, he was snoring quietly._

_A warmth had been spreading through D'Agosta's body, silently filling every single cell with a gently glowing fire, ever since he had woken and found the agent like this._

_He must've been utterly exhausted that he allowed himself to fall asleep like this. D'Agosta knew - despite all the contrary evidence - that the man was indeed human, and that he needed sleep like everyone else. But this was a very rare moment, and D'Agosta was granted to witness it._

_They had spend most of the afternoon chatting quietly about a new case Pandergast had taken on, consulting D'Agosta's take on it. Which in itself was unusual already - normally it was the other way around._

_But Pendergast had insisted, had laid out what he already knew and to D'Agosta's big surprise he was able to pitch bits of advice here and there._

_He was still weak and quickly wore out, his lids drooping heavily during their conversation, and eventually Pendergast had smiled one of those rare smiles at him and had told him to rest._

_Which he had done, had quickly slipped into a meds-induced dream._

_He had been drowsy when he woke again. And for a moment he had thought he was seeing things as he saw Pendergast sound asleep._

_A greedy little voice in his head had kept him from waking him, knowing how precious a moment like this was._

_And so he had spent the time just watching the agent; for the first time he had the freedom to just do so without being scrutinized in return._

_Pendergast was a good-looking man._

_D'Agosta knew that, had noticed it very early into their acquaintance. Not painfully so, and not overly obvious. No, it was something very subtle; the way he moved, graceful and weightless, with an air of self centered confidence, utterly secure in himself; _the way he talked and listened, always focused, never disregarding.__

_Now his face was soft and vulnerable in his sleep, the sharp edges of his aristocratic features smoothed out and less pronounced._

_Long lashes cast fuzzy shadows on those high cheekbones that looked as if they were carved from marble, translucent lids hiding the piercing gaze that seemed to see everything._

_His aquiline nose twitched, once, twice, and something warm sizzled through D'Agosta's veins at the sight of it._

_More heat rose in him as his gaze lingered on the man's mouth: sensual lips pursed slightly, light pink, and a sharp contrast to his overly pale skin._

_A very good looking man, D'Agosta thought, face burning now._

_He tore his eyes away with some difficulties; better not to go down a path he knew he couldn’t come back from. He reached out for the case file laying on the bed instead, needing something to distract him. Missing the edge, he cursed softly as the thick folder slipped and fell on the floor with a loud thud._

_Pendergast stirred, eyes flying open instantly._

_D'Agosta watched fascinated as the drowsiness lingered in hazy blue eyes for a few seconds before Pendergast sat up straight. He blinked quickly and suddenly he was highly alert, eyes blazing blue fire._

_"Nice nap?" D'Agosta asked cheerfully, his voice almost steady._

_An ironic smile flitted over Pendergast's lips._

_"I apologize. Sometimes I forget the needs of my body," he said, leaning forward to pick up the file._

_D'Agosta snorted._

_"We all need rest, Pendergast, even you."_

_Inclining his head, the man shrugged._

_"Sadly sleep is an unfortunate biological requirement that both wastes time and leaves one vulnerable."_

_D'Agosta laughed softly._

_"Guess I can call myself lucky then," he joked, or tried to: the words came out much less sarcastic than he had hoped for._

_Pendergast's eyes, now clear and attentive, caught D'Agosta's, holding them._

_"I trust you, Vincent, otherwise I wouldn't have allowed sleep to claim me," he said lowly, an odd tinge in his tone._

_It made D'Agosta swallow around a lump in his throat. He knew that the agent trusted him but this was something else entirely._

_He felt pinned into place under the penetrating stare of the other man._

_Trying to deflect his inner turmoil he reached for the file in Pendergast's hand._

_Their fingers brushed._

_Nothing big, only the brief slide of skin against skin. It had happened before. And yet it made Pendergast inhale sharply and D'Agosta's heart stumble._

_They stared at each other, not moving, eyes locked over the small space between them, a sudden tension palpable in the air._

_"Vincent..." Pendergast started but D'Agosta shook his head, muting him effectively._

_A calmness was enveloping him, sure and undeniable, settling some rattling piece inside his chest into its slot. Everything made sense now: Pendergast’s overly caring behavior, his own conflicted emotions._

_Wordlessly he plucked the file from Pendergast limp grasp and dropped it carelessly on the bed._

_Then he reached out again, deliberately slowly, never once taking his eyes off the other man._

_Pendergast's pale face had gone incredibly white, his eyes wide as he watched D'Agosta's hand._

_It hovered in the air, only inches away and D'Agosta could feel the warmth radiating from the man's skin._

_Holding his breath he lowered his hand, resting it lightly on top of Pendergast's on the bed. It was warm, warmer than he had imagined. His skin was smooth, and he couldn't help a quick caress, sighing under his breath._

_Pendergast sat paralyzed, didn't blink, barely breathed._

_Moments of utter stillness ticked by before he very slowly exhaled, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly._

_D'Agosta was so focused on his face, frantically searching it for something - anything - that it took him a few seconds to notice that Pendergast was moving. Carefully, almost in slow motion, he turned his hand until his palm was resting gently against D'Agosta's, spidery fingertips ghosting over his wrist._

_A faint blush was creeping up his neck as he leaned forward, twisting his hand, slipping first one then another finger between D'Agosta's, lacing them together in an almost hypnotic motion._

_D'Agosta's heart was hammering, and he felt heat spread over his face as he curled his fingers lightly, fingertips tingling as they brushed over hard knuckles._

_Every nerve in his body was on edge, his body thrumming, a noisy buzz filling his ears._

_The silence in the room was absolute, deafening in its intensity._

_Pendergast tightened his grip, pressing his slender fingers against D'Agosta's before he pulled back. D'Agosta wanted to protest but the serene smile blooming on Pendergast's lips stopped him._

_Still looking intensely into his eyes Pendergast moved their hands, turning them over, fingertips dancing ever so lightly over D'Agosta's flesh, outlining its shape, traveling over every finger before returning to his palm, resuming their hypnotic motions._

_D'Agosta was getting lost in the feeling, desperately wanting to look down, watching the elegant digits but Pendergast's dark gaze kept him, forbid him to look anywhere but him._

_Hot jolts, electricity like, shot through his body every time there was a shift in those wandering fingers, causing small shocks of sensations in his entire being._

_And as those caresses closed in on his pulse point, pressing against it, he couldn't help the moan tumbling from his lips, shockingly loud in the silence around them. His lids fluttered shut on their own accord._

_He had subconsciously moved closed to the other man, searching his nearness._

_And so had Pendergast._

_D'Agosta could feel him, his elevated breath was ghosting over his face, stirring his lashes, the fine hairs on his hairline._

_"Open your eyes, Vincent," Pendergast whispered, his voice low and raspy. It caused a full-on body shudder in D'Agosta._

_He forced his lids open, gasping in surprise as he found himself nose to nose with the other man._

_The blue of Pendergast's eyes was almost erased by the wide black pupils filling D'Agosta's vision._

_"This will change everything," Pendergast murmured, brushing his nose against D'Agosta's, "are you sure you want that? We cannot go back from this."_

_D'Agosta groaned helplessly: Pendergast's voice was so low he felt it more than heard it. It echoed through his very bones, eliciting a raw longing he never knew was even there._

_He licked his lip, and Pendergast shivered, his nostrils flaring._

_"Yes," D'Agosta whispered helplessly, far too gone to backtrack now._

_Pendergast's eyes narrowed for a split second, his fingers closed hard around D'Agosta's wrist, shooting a spark of pure desperate need through him._

_The air was charged, crackling in a moment of utter stasis; both men able to taste the other one's breath._

_Then D'Agosta leaned up, Pendergast lowered his head and their lips touched in the faintest of kisses._

_D'Agosta had time to notice how tender Pendergast's mouth was, how utterly familiar it felt, and yet how new. The kiss sent a searing thrill down his spine, tense muscles vibrating from witheld need. A quiet moan rang in his ears, and he felt the wet glide of Pendergast's tongue against his lower lip._

_Raising his free hand D'Agosta ghosted a finger over Pendergast's neck and smiled absently as he felt the shudder wrecking the other man. Sliding his hand into Pendergast's hair, he pressed closer, opening his mouth._

_There was a tiny hesitation but then Pendergast exhaled and melted against D'Agosta. They sank into the kiss, equally letting go of any remaining doubts._

_Nothing could've prepared D'Agosta for the flurry of emotions washing over him as he kissed Pendergast. It was gentle and hesitant, and yet he could feel a burning urge behind it, knew they were both holding back, not wanting to scare off one another._

_He curled his hand tighter into incredibly soft hair, deepening the kiss, losing himself in it._

_He didn't want to stop, couldn't have, and by the way Pendergast was gasping against his lips, eagerly kissing back, he knew the other man was just as overwhelmed as he was._

_Eventually they had to break apart in need for air._

_D'Agosta rested his forehead against Pendergast's, blinking heavy lids open. The breath caught in his chest as he met the other man's huge eyes, shining with something D'Agosta had never seen in them._

_His mind was empty and so he only stared, drank in the sight of a slightly disheveled Pendergast. His cheeks were flushed, a look that suited him well, blue eyes shimmering like diamonds, a tiny smile lingering on his lips._

_D'Agosta couldn't help himself and he reached out, laying a hand on Pendergast's cheek. His heart jumped as the man leaned briefly into the touch, a soft sigh escaping his throat._

_He reached up and covered D'Agosta's hand with his own, long fingers slotting between D'Agosta's before he sat back, joined hands resting on the bed between them._

_And for the first time D'Agosta found himself completely at a loss for words._

_Pendergast ran his free hand through his hair, smoothing it down, and D'Agosta smirked involuntarily as he saw the tremble in those elegant fingers._

_Pendergast caught his eye, raising an eyebrow at him, a fond sarcasm on his feline features._

_"Got you there, didn't I?" D'Agosta muttered, only slightly surprised at the roughness of his own voice._

_A low rumble filled the air and it took him a second to recognize the sound as a chuckle._

_"My dear Vincent," Pendergast said, "you never fail to surprise me."_

_D'Agosta laughed heartily, tension leaving his body in waves, and soon he was joined by the quiet snickers of the other man._

 

_When Laura Hayward walked in half an hour later, she found the two man silently watching each other. Pendergast's chair was moved close to the bed, their hands resting next to each other on top of the bedding, fingertips grazing. Just a gentle touch, nothing more, and they pulled apart in a slow reluctant motion, neither man bothered that she saw it._

_It felt like they just didn't want to flaunt it in front of her, and even though she had always suspected that there was something special between these two, she was grateful not having to witness it first hand._

***

Rolling out of bed, D'Agosta strolled over to the window, looking out. The sun had set, painting the sky in a riot of orange, pink and blue, casting eerie shadows over the skyscrapers. A plane drew a white condensation line into the darkening sky, small and far away.

Watching it pass over, he could hear the distant noises of the city. Far away, but he was so attuned to it, he heard it as clear as a bell: the wild honking of the late rush hour, the screeching of brakes, even the murmur of many voices around the streets.

New York, so full of life, full of so many people, so many lives, entangled and distant at the same time. Everyone going their own way, not knowing whether or not their paths would influence anyone else.

A sad smile lingered over D'Agosta's lips as he shuffled back to the bed, pulling the pillow close, letting his thoughts wander once more.

***

_D'Agosta watched Pendergast pace the room, his movements easy and graceful. The flickering flames in the fireplace cast the side of his face in red lights, illuminating his light hair in shades of orange, one eye glowing fiercely as he explained the outline of his plan._

_Constance sat at the desk, writing with an old-fashioned fountain pen into a notebook._

_Laura Hayward was perched on the edge of the wide wingchair opposite D'Agosta, her curious eyes wandering between him and Pendergast back and forth, obviously not listening._

_"Commissioner, don't you agree with this?"_

_Pendergast's cool voice made her look over, and D'Agosta saw a brief flicker of embarrassment dart over her face. She pulled herself together quickly, and D'Agosta suppressed a smile._

_She was still adjusting, and was obviously having a hard time doing so. Ever since she had arrived earlier, her curiosity was barely tamed and D'Agosta knew she was dying to know more._

_It's been months since she had walked in on them on that fateful day in hospital and after the initial shock, she had started to ask questions._

_Carefully concealed, using her interrogation skills during normal conversation, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. But D'Agosto knew her well enough to see through it right away, and always darted around it, never once answering one of her questions. She didn't dare to ask Pendergast himself; instead she had counted on the history she and D'Agosta had._

_They had become close friends over time, sharing a deep companionship after their failed attempt as a couple. Once she had stopped being angry at him for breaking it off years ago, they had fallen into an easy friendship._

_D’Agosta’s severe injury had hit her hard and she had spent quite some time around him those past weeks. She had witnessed the growing intimacy between him and Pendergast, so it was only natural that she was curious, especially since D'Agosta had never shown any sign of romantic interest in his own sex._

_It still baffled him too but he had quickly realized that his interest was limited to only one man._

_The one currently scrutinizing his ex-fiancee with an icy stare._

_They hadn't talked about it, had just let it quietly run its path. There hadn’t been any big declarations, or any dramatic gestures._

_When he had finally been discharged from hospital, Proctor had picked him up and drove him straight to the Dakota despite his weak protests. Pendergast had waited by the door and mutely showed him to the large bedroom next to his own. All his belongings had been there, the terminated lease of his old apartment lying on the desk by the window. He had been irritated for a second that the man had taken charge of his life so easily but after a few days he just had accepted it. And it had been astonishing uncomplicated to share his life - and his bed - with Pendergast._

_He smiled at that thought._

_"Vincent, anything you want to contribute?"_

_Pendergast's honeyed voice was sharp as he directed his cool gaze towards D'Agosta, who only smiled innocently._

_"Nope," he said, "not at all. You're doing just fine without me..." He paused before he added, "...Aloysius."_

_A deep rush of satisfaction washed over him as he saw the other man flinch. It was barely visible in the dim lights but D'Agosta was used to noticing the finest nuances in his behavior by now, and it filled him with a quiet joy that he was able to rattle the usually so collected agent._

_Pendergast's eyes narrowed warningly, and yet D'Agosta saw a flicker of amusement in them._

_Leaning back D’Agosta waved a gracious hand at the man._

_"Go on," he said, barely able to hold back the affection in his tone._

_Their eyes met for a brief moment, burning through the space between them, and D'Agosta lost himself in the glittering gaze for a moment._

_Hayward's sarcastic throat clearing was loud in the quiet room._

_"Christ, get a room you two," she said ironically, throwing her hands in the air in mock annoyance._

_Pendergast arched a questioning eyebrow at her. She quirked a smile, gesturing between him and D'Agosta back and forth._

_"You two, it’s like watching a car crash, one can’t look away,” she said, rolling her eyes._

_"Excuse me?" Pendergast asked, a hint of steel in his tone._

_Hayward shook her head, huffing a weak laugh._

_"Oh don't play dumb on me, Agent," she strained the last word, "everyone can see it. Well, maybe not everyone but I can."_

_"And what exactly do you see?"_

_She waved a hand around, "You two, barely able to keep your hands off each other."_

_Pendergast cast a quick glance at D'Agosta who only smiled, and shook his head._

_"Don't look at me," he said amused, "she's all yours to deal with."_

_Pendergast sighed irritated, obviously pondering something. Then he walked over and sat deliberately slowly on the armrest of D'Agosta's chair, smoothing a non existent crease in his immaculate suit._

_"Fine," he huffed, "apparently we are not getting anywhere here without addressing something that is actually quite a private matter, first. Now then, Commissioner Hayward, what is it that you want to know?"_

_D'Agosta looked up at him in surprise. The man never let anyone in on his life; he himself only recently had gotten to know the private side of him. And yet here he was, letting Hayward poke around._

_She was just as surprised at D'Agosta, wordlessly staring in shock._

_"Uh," she stuttered, a faint blush coloring her face, "uhm, well… how did this happen?"_

_"You have to be a bit more precise," Pendergast said coolly._

_"I...well, I thought you were as straight as they come," she eventually sputtered out, her gaze searching for D'Agosta's. He only shrugged, smiling at her._

_"Apparently not as much as I thought," he replied softly, and in the spur of the moment he reached out, laying his hand on Pendergast's knee._

_The man didn't move a muscle for a long time before he slowly raised a hand and covered D'Agosta's._

_"Sometimes the universe works in mysterious ways," Pendergast finally said quietly, not looking at Hayward but at D'Agosta._

_Silence fell over the room, only the scratching of a pen was heard._

_Hayward's gaze flickered between the two men back and forth, clearly at a loss for words._

_Deep down D’Agosta felt sorry for her. She and he had been a good team but it just hadn't worked - which partly had been Pendergast's fault. His unorthodox methods, the way he worked - it had intrigued D'Agosta, had drawn him into the man's orbit. At first it had strictly been about their work but the more he’d gotten to know the agent, the more intrigued he had become. D'Agosta had never felt as if he belonged, never felt accepted just as he was._

_Pendergast had given him what he had always craved: acceptance and understanding without questioning his motives. And over years their extraordinary friendship had grown and evolved, and eventually slipped into something more. And D’Agosta didn’t mind one bit._

_Swallowing around the tightness in his throat he squeezed Pendergast's knee, feeling an answering squeeze of his hand._

_They understood each other wordlessly. They didn’t flaunt it around, and D’Agosta wasn’t sure how doing police work together would be - he was still off-duty and recovering - but he didn’t actually worry about it. They would work it out._

_The silence in the room stretched and just as he thought about breaking it, Hayward leaned back, defeated._

_“Very well,” she muttered, taking up a case file and burying her flaming face behind it._

_"Excellent,” Pendergast said, an air of finality in his tone “I hope this satisfies your curiosity, Commissioner. Shall we go back to work?" he asked, standing up._

_Reluctantly D'Agosta let go of him and watched as he walked over to Constance, leaning down to her and murmured something to her._

_She nodded and stood, gliding out of the room. Before she left she caught D'Agosta's eyes and for the first time ever since he knew her she smiled at him approvingly._

_He was still looking after her, stunned speechless as Pendergast launched back into talking._

***

Somewhere in the depths of the apartment a phone started ringing. D'Agosta heard it but paid it no mind. Proctor would take care of it.

The ringing seized and for a moment perfect silence fell. Then a small device on the desk started blinking, announcing an urgent call.

D'Agosta ignored it. He wasn't in the state to deal with anything right now, let alone talk to anyone.

The blinking stopped after a minute and D'Agosta resumed his trip down memory lane.

***

_D'Agosta leaned against the fridge, a cold beer in hand, eyes roaming around the huge kitchen._

_It would’ve fit much better into a five star restaurant or an exclusive hotel than into the - admittedly large - apartment. Especially since Pendergast, until recently, had lived alone and was in no need of such a professionally equipped kitchen._

_Taking a sip of his beer, his gaze strayed back to the man in front of the big stove, effortlessly handling the many pans and pots bubbling on it._

_“Don’t you have a chef for this?” D’Agosta asked, feeling a bit superfluous as Pendergast had insisted on preparing the dinner himself._

_Without looking up, the agent nodded._

_“Yes. But this is your first wrapped case after your return. And in record time, I may add.” He cast a quick glance at D’Agosta, smiling knowingly, before he turned his attention back to the stove. “I feel it’s only appropriate. And I myself have neglected cooking for far too long. I have forgotten how satisfying it can be.”_

_As usual when D’Agosta found out something yet undiscovered about Pendergast his pulse quickened. It weakened his knees in a way he tried to ignore - and failed miserably. Not that he minded. He was still getting used to seeing this side of the normally aloof and cool-appearing man._

_In his own home, hidden away from the outside, he was relaxed, a lot more approachable, and quite passionate about the things he loved._

_Which apparently included cooking a celebratory five-course dinner for D’Agosta, Hayward and Constance._

_Watching him magic away on the stove, creating mouthwatering dishes out of various ingredients was something D’Agosta would treasure for a long time._

_Pendergast was wearing his customary suit but he had taken off his tie and jacket, sleeves of the crisp white shirt rolled up, showing off his defined forearms, and D'Agosta found himself getting lost in watching the muscles work under the white skin. From where he stood he could see the faint blue veins, and his fingers itched with a barely-repressed need to trace them, following their path up Pendergast's toned arms._

_His white-blond hair was ruffled a bit; it had been rather stormy earlier and he hadn't bothered to smooth it back when they came in._

_His slender body moved easily around, hands dancing deftly through the air, turning down flames, sprinkling spices, stirring pot contents._

_D’Agosta got lost in the sight and only the quiet cough brought him back into the here and now._

_Pendergast was watching him, an elegant eyebrow arched in a silent question._

_Only then D’Agosta noticed the spoon hovering in front of him. Instinctively he opened his mouth to taste it._

_He groaned unabashedly - it was divine. He had no clue what he had just sampled but he knew he wanted it all._

_“Damnit,” he said, licking his lips, “that’s the best stuff I’ve ever tasted. You know that you have to cook every day now, right?”_

_He peered eagerly at the pot, almost missing the smug smile on Pendergast’s face as he turned to the stove again._

_“I’m glad you approve,” he said, wiping his hands on a towel, “but it’s far too complex to make every day, I’m afraid. The preparation alone takes two days.”_

_D’Agosta sighed loudly, wistfully._

_“Shame, I could live off that for weeks. Months even. What other talents have you been hiding from the world?”_

_Pendergast chuckled softly._

_“There are still many things you don’t know about me, Vincent,” he said, putting a lid on one pan, adding a few mushrooms to another._

_“Well, I intend on finding them all out,” D’Agosta shot back, feeling a slight flush rising on his cheeks as he realized the innuendo in his words._

_Pendergast glanced over his shoulder, his blue eyes sparkling amused._

_“All of them?” he asked, the corner of his mouth twitching._

_D’Agosta cleared his throat, capturing the other man’s gaze._

_“All of them,” he drawled, waggling his eyebrows even though his heart started beating faster._

_They kept looking at each other, a slight tension building in the warm room._

_And to D’Agosta’s surprise it was Pendergast who averted his eyes first, a faint coloring showing up on his neck._

_It was an endearing sight and D’Agosta cherished those small moments when he succeeded in flustering the other man._

_Amazingly it needed very little: a brush of hands, a sighed word, a heated look. But the one thing that had them both forget everything was the precious times when D'Agosta moved close to the other man and murmured his name in his ear._

_The first time he had done that was still freshly seared into his mind, and he felt something in his chest constrict thinking about it._

_Pendergast usually was very much in control of himself, not letting anything pierce through the cool facade he put up around himself. But when D'Agosta had first whispered "Aloysius" against the side of the man's neck, pressing butterfly kisses against his pale skin, he didn't expect the explosive reaction that followed._

_Heat spread through his body, making his hands slippery around the chilled bottle._

_What a night that had been. He still blushed every time he thought about that._

_Spontaneous images flickered through his mind, taking his breath away anew:_

_Surprisingly strong muscles under pale skin, quivering and stretched out for him to explore._

_A long neck, bend back and flushed, succumbing to his lips and hands._

_Thoroughly disheveled blond hair and burning blue eyes, hungrily watching him._

_Slender nimble fingers, helplessly grasping dark sheets._

_Quiet sighs, whispered words and desperate cries, trapped between heated lips._

_And afterwards, slippery bodies, tightly wrapped around one another, lazily wandering hands caressing, holding._

_D’Agosta shook his head to shoo those memories away; they wouldn’t do him any good now - not with a dinner to get through first._

_Nevertheless he set the bottle down and slowly took the few steps towards Pendergast, still puttering around at the stove. Settling his hands gently over the man’s back, he relished the hard muscles shifting with every motion._

_Pendergast's movements didn't falter, nothing indicated that he even felt the touch but D'Agosta - with honed police instincts of many years - knew that the man was smiling. He pictured it: only a twitch of soft lips, a twinkle in blue eyes, smoothing the hard angles of his face._

_D'Agosta slipped his arms around the narrow waist, stepped closer and peaked over a bony shoulder into the pot. His fingertips danced over small buttons, teasing between expensive fabric, touching warm skin._

_Only then Pendergast reacted. He let out a quiet sound, something between an exaggerated sigh and a toneless moan._

_"Vincent," he said, sounding a bit shaky, "I must say, you're quite the distraction. Dinner's almost ready."_

_D'Agosta tightened his grip, turning his head to speak into Pendergast's ear._

_"I'm not really that hungry," he murmured, teeth grazing over the sensitive flesh of an earlobe._

_Pendergast shivered gently, the hand holding the spoon started quivering imperceptibly._

_"Our guests should arrive soon," he replied, his voice dropping an octave as he leaned back._

_D'Agosta flicked his tongue over Pendergast's neck, being rewarded with a dark moan._

_"What guests?" he muttered, a blinding desire taking over his mind._

_"The guests we’ll have to celebrate your being back with the force. Do you want to spoil that?"_

_Despite his words Pendergast let the spoon slip from his fingers, flicked off the flames and then turned in a fluid motion._

_D'Agosta exhaled sharply as he met the man's darkened gaze. He pried silky fabric loose from a snug waistband, sneaking a hand under it._

_"Pity," Pendergast said, sounding slightly breathless, "it was my best creation so far."_

_D'Agosta chuckled, running a finger over the pronounced spine of the other man._

_"You can re-do it any time soon. Maybe without me around to distract you."_

_"I should ban you from the kitchen for the time being,” Pendergast murmured, arching into D’Agosta’s touch, “and yet I find myself too weak to resist."_

_The agent's voice sounded like a purr and D'Agosta felt the delightful suspense between them._

_"Then don't resist."_

_With that said, D'Agosta closed the space between them and kissed Pendergast. He pulled him against his chest, arousal surging through his veins as strong hands settled on his shoulders, fingers playing with the fine hairs at the nape of his neck._

_The kiss started out slowly, almost playfully, just light nips and teasing touches._

_Quiet moans filled the space around them and quickly the two men were clinging to each other, desperately trying to touch bare skin._

_"Wait, let me just..." Pendergast breathed, breaking away._

_D'Agosta narrowed his eyes at him as he stepped around him and walked to the door, peeking out and then closing it. He turned the heavy key, eyes fierce and dark on D'Agosta._

_"We don't want to be interrupted, do we?" he asked, leaning against the heavy oak._

_"Hell no," D'Agosta replied slyly, quickly walking over and pinning Pendergast against the door. "we certainly don't want that."_

_He wanted to say more but Pendergast's mouth on his stopped every coherent thought and then there wasn't much talking anymore._

 

_Proctor walked along the corridor, humming softly to himself. A loud bang behind one of the many doors had him look up, scanning the empty hall. Frowning he cocked his head, listening. Another bang and the cluttering of metal lead him towards the kitchen door._

_Carefully he reached out for the handle, all his senses alert. But then heard a muffled laugh, followed by a sound that had him step back hastily._

_Quickly he resumed his stroll, bringing as much space as possible between the kitchen and himself._

_Upon entering the next room, he picked up the phone, dialed, waited._

_"Commissioner Hayward? Proctor here. I’m afraid Agent Pendergast has to cancel tonight’s dinner."_

_“He’s terribly sorry to call at such short notice.”_

_"No, I’m sorry, he didn’t say."_

_“Yes, I will let him know. Again, he apologizes and he’ll reimburse at another time._

_He hung up, the smile on his face widened and as he walked away he was whistling under his breath._

***

The door flew open, a dark shadow standing in the frame. The light from behind outlined the figure’s lithe body, and sparked shimmers of white on the hair.

"I came as quickly as possible."

The soft voice was warm and full of sorrow, slightly breathless and the words shot through D'Agosta like spears.

Quickly the man moved towards the bed, sat on the edge, long fingers reaching out for D'Agosta.

A painful sob escaped his throat as he twined his hand with the cold one.

It took a few moments of shuffling around until both men were laying on the bed, arms tightly wrapped around each other.

"I am so sorry that I couldn't be here for the funeral."

The words were gentle, filled with deep regret, the warm southern accent like a caress for D'Agosta's frayed nerves.

He moved closer, nuzzling the man’s neck and inhaled deeply, smelling the faint hint of stale airplane air and the sharp scent of old leather.

"You're here now," D'Agosta whispered in a thick voice.

They laid motionless, finding solace in each other's embrace.

Eventually they moved, putting enough space between them to see the other one's face in the dim light.

"It was bad," D'Agosta started roughly, "really bad."

He fell silent, words failing him. He swallowed hard, drawing strength from the calm blue eyes watching him intently. A gentle hand started to stroke the side of his face. The repetitive motion, calming and soothing, helped him to center himself.

"It's just not fair," he muttered, anger burning through his veins, "she was one of the best, it shouldn't have ended like this."

"You can't control everything. Sometimes things go awry, horribly so, and there's absolutely nothing you could've done about it."

"I know, and yet I feel as if I failed her."

"You did no such thing. In fact, I know how much she valued your work, to her personally and to the force. She will rest with the knowledge that you single-handedly caught her murderer and made sure he'll never see the light of day again."

The last was spoken in such a cold tone that it sent shivers down D'Agosta's spine. He knew the killer had been sent to the most secure prison in the country. He also knew that Pendergast had made a few phonecalls after D'Agosta had told him about Hayward’s death. He didn't need to know the specifics but he would bet an entire year's salary that the man would not survive the first month in prison.

He sighed deeply, hiding his face in Pendergast's neck, feeling the man's hands on his back, holding him securely.

"I'll miss her," D'Agosta muttered, a warm drowsiness enveloping him. Now that Pendergast was back, in his arms, the severity of his - their - loss was overwhelming.

"She was excellent in everything she did," Pendergast murmured, shifting them on the bed into a more comfortable position.

"So tired," D'Agosta mumbled after a while.

"Sleep then."

"Will you stay?"

"Of course."

D'Agosta gave in, let the hovering darkness wash over him and the last thing he felt was a soft kiss on his forehead, a few hushed words.

"You are not alone."

*

The next few days they spent mostly in the small bedroom, far away from the rest of the apartment. It was a refuge from the world, from anything D'Agosta couldn't bear just yet.

Pendergast stayed with him, a calm steady presence during the overwhelming grief.

They didn't talk much. Not with words at least. But at night when they lay in bed, curled around one another, their hands did speak: tender caresses, delicate touches, soothing motions that healed and mended.

In the morning, when the watery sunlight streamed through the blinds, there were words, hushed and hesitant. Often against bare skin, sometimes laced with tears.

Proctor supplied them with a steady stream of delicacies, making sure they ate. Every day he brought a tray with food, left it in front of the door on its old-fashioned trolley and picked it up later.

Slowly, as if waking from hibernation, D'Agosta started to leave the room more and more, wandering aimlessly the dim hallways, lost in thought. Every now and then Pendergast was with him, a silent shadow by his side. But most times he walked alone, nodding towards the few other occupants of the apartment.

One morning he found himself in the tea house room. Following an instinct he entered, as always fascinated by the place. Walking slowly over the cobbled stones, he took in every detail. The small trees, the trickling water in the hidden basins, the distant cooing of birds.

As he came to the small wooden tea house itself, he stopped, surprised to find the entrance open.

Walking closer he saw Pendergast, kneeling Japanese style in front of the low table, a beautiful exquisite tea set laid out on it.

He looked up as D'Agosta approached hesitantly, making an inviting gesture toward the thin mat next to him.

He watched attentively as D'Agosta lowered himself awkwardly, shuffling around until he found a comfortable position.

They sat in silence for a while. Then Pendergast started to lay out some odd looking equipment on the table and it took D'Agosta a moment to realize that he was witnessing a traditional tea ceremony.

He lost himself in the unhurried elegance of Pendergast's hands, measuring, mixing and eventually pouring three cups of tea. He handed one to D'Agosta, set another opposite them and took the last in his own hands.

"To a grand woman. She'll be missed but never forgotten," he said, voice barely audible, his southern accent thick as molasses - the only sign that he was deeply affected.

D'Agosta squeezed his lids shut. In his own grief he had almost forgotten that Pendergast had lost her as well. Hayward had become a very close friend over the years, on a professional and a personal basis.

"I'm sorry," D'Agosta pressed out, "I-"

Pendergast laid a hand on his arm, shaking his head.

"You knew her much longer and much better than I did. And even though I feel her loss deeply, you are entitled to a deeper mourning. She was a cherished part of your life."

He lifted the delicate cup, inclining his head and D'Agosta hastened to mirror him.

"Farewell, dear friend," Pendergast said huskily, "may you rest in peace."

"Rest in peace," D'Agosta echoed, taking a sip of the tea.

It smelled floral, a bit like roses and carnations yet tasted of green leaves, bitter but not unpleasant.

With every sip of his tea he felt his grief a little less severe and by the time his cup was empty a sense of tranquility had replaced the harsh pain.

Pendergast set his own empty cup back on the table, resting his hands lightly in his lap, looking out into the perfect garden.

D'Agosta glanced at him, taking in his classical profile with the proud forehead, the straight nose, the small mouth and the strong chin.

He had known for a while that he would never leave the man's side again but in this very moment, in a hidden garden in the middle of New York, he felt his heart leap with raw emotions.

Reaching out he laced his fingers with Pendergast's and lifted them to his lips. He kissed the knuckles and then pressed their joined hands against his chest.

“Losing her made me realize what dangerous work we do,” D’Agosta said, the words coming only hesitantly. “While you were away, I’ve been thinking a lot. About us, the past and…” he stopped, casting a glance towards the other man, “... the future.”

He stopped, shifting; talking about his feelings had never been easy but somehow he wanted to make Pendergast understand how much he meant to him.

Pendergast didn’t look at him, only tilted his a head to one side.

“You know,” he eventually said, “that being separated from you caused me almost physical pain?”

D’Agosta frowned at the detached tone of his voice and it took him a moment to process the words.

“What?”

Pendergast squeezed his hand gently, making a soothing noise.

“Nothing to worry about, I’m fine. It was just that, having an entire ocean between us, knowing you were mourning, all by yourself, made me realize…”

His low voice trailed off and D’Agosta could hear the dry click in his throat as he swallowed hard.

He waited for him to continue but there was nothing more. But it wasn’t really necessary, they both knew, it hung in the space between them, silent and immeasurable. There was no need to actually say it. And yet he felt the urge to say something. The past days had shown him how mortal he was, and how utterly fragile their life was.

"You do know how I feel about you?" he asked hoarsely.

Pendergast didn't move for a while. When he did, he turned towards him, his blue eyes shining fiercely in the dying light.

"Yes," he whispered, "I do. And please know that the sentiment is reciprocated." He paused, squeezed D'Agosta's hand. "Deeply and wholly."

A smile spread over D'Agosta's face and he leaned forward, kissing him lightly.

They parted, eyes locked for another moment before they sat back again.

Side by side they looked out into the quiet garden as it sank into darkness, their hands still tightly entwined.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
